


From The Villain

by particulant



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-24 22:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/particulant/pseuds/particulant
Summary: A series of one-shots from a larger universe that I will never finish writing about.





	1. Into The Villain's Arms

**“The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes- they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse in the villain’s arms.”**

My morning face has always been the best. Some people find themselves groggy and unrelaxed, their minds still longing for the covers and sheets on their bed, but mine longs to begin the day; it waits in anxiousness for the sun to rise and the animals to begin bustling about. I wake up very early because of this. So early that I must wait hours before I actually see the sun rise, and Norix and I spend the morning completing menial household chores until the time comes.

I am approximately halfway through cleaning up Norix’s tank when I hear a very quiet knock on the door. It is not rushed like I have heard so often before, but it has a sense of urgency I cannot explain. Like the person there, knocking so slowly, has no energy left to complete the sequence. Norix, sensing my new alertness, jumps onto my arm and climbs up my shoulder before I spin around, walking towards the front door.

It takes a moment for me to calm down when I finally reach the door. Not only is it so early in the morning that the birds have not awoken, but it is so early that all life is still asleep. Those aside from thieves and assassins are still bundled up within their own homes, sheltering from the cold of the merciless night. With a minor prompting from Norix, as he jumps onto the handle, looking between me and the door curiously, I give in and pull it open.

There, standing on the doorstep of my tiny little out-of-the-way home, is Imila the angel. Though, it is not the Imila I know and recognise, this is someone who is shivering, bleeding, and very visibly scared. There is a dazed look in her eyes, as though she has been drugged. She looks like she has been assaulted. She glances at me, her face a cross between guilt and pleading.

She sways a moment as though she is close to passing out, then mumbles, “…I didn’t know where else to go…” before collapsing right there in front of me.

My reactions are not quick enough to keep her upright, but they are quick enough to catch her in my arms. She is about as heavy as I expected for an aasimar, and I am once again let down by my human weaknesses. In fact, if not for Norix’s quick thinking in bringing the shadow realm’s energy towards me to increase my strength, I am certain she would have fallen from my arms.

_Heh, fallen angel._

I bring her inside carefully, making sure that her incomprehensibly annoying dress does not catch or tangle with any of the loose screws on the floor. The tiny animals, that have let themselves into my house of their own volition, scurry away into the darker corners as they sense her light presence.

I am sure I can feel it so much stronger than those animals, though.

It burns right through my soul, slowly searing away everything the shadow realm has built inside me. Finally reaching my bedroom after far too long of a haul, I dump her onto the bed and slam my head against the wall in agony.

“I cannot just keep her here,” I mutter angrily aloud, talking to no one at all, “she is going to kill me.”

To my complete surprise, a voice actually calls back. It is unlike any voice I have ever heard before, and is almost a polar opposite to the Greater Power. Without a body or light source, the voice simply calls out in the air to say, “she trusts you, Lena. As much as I do not, please, help her.”

There is a solid moment where my heart turns away at the thought of helping her, and I cross my arms in defiance. It does not take very long for me to give in, though, when I look back at the blood coating her body. Technically, the Greater Power has yet to actually ask me to kill her, so I could just heal her a little bit, right? I look from the dying aasimar to Norix, then back once again.

“Fuck it. Let’s help.”


	2. A Little Game of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boredom, motion-sickness, and curiosity prompt the group to participate in Imila's horrible get-to-know-each-other game.

**It is early in the campaign. Imila, Griffin, and Quinn are unaware that Lena worships a lawful evil deity.**

“Five days.” Quinn groans, looking out over the side of the cart with very green-tinted cheeks. “Five days we’ve been on this damn road.”

For a moment, his eyes lull backwards and his neck swells, but whatever wanted to escape his stomach, it recedes.

“Could be worse,” Imila says, smiling as she watches the horses continue galloping, “we could have had to walk this trek.”

“Could be better, too.”

Imila turns her head in the direction of the pessimistic human and scowls. “You really need to lighten up. All of you.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Griffin asks sarcastically. With his arms crossed in defiance, the dragonborn looks more menacing than some of the monsters they have faced. He fixes his gaze on Imila, waiting for an answer, but all he sees is the eyes of the desperate.

Suddenly, Imila’s eyes light up, and a grin creeps onto her face.

“Don’t say it,” Quinn mutters, “please don’t you say it.”

“We could play a game to pass the time!” she beams, spinning around and siting cross-legged on one of the crates.

Quinn winces. Griffin shrugs. Lena remains quiet in the corner, staring off into the distance.

“Oh, come on, do you have any better suggestions?”

The crew remains silent for a moment before Quinn grumbles, “no.”

Imila’s smile, somehow, grows even wider than before as she asks everyone to gather in a circle.

The three tired adventurers follow her instructions begrudgingly, completely ignoring the stranger controlling the horses.

“The game is simple,” Imila begins, “all you have to do is ask a question, and answer honestly. It’s about getting to know each other better!”

“And what if we don’t like the question?” Lena asks in a completely monotone voice, clearly fed up with the game before it has even begun.

“Tough luck.” Griffin grins, seeing the possibilities of the game.

“Alright, I’ll go first,” Imila says, “Quinn, what has been your favourite part of the adventure so far?”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but does seem to think about his answer for a few moments before he speaks. “Well, I liked it when we took down the massive hoard of arachnids. Felt nice to actually put my new weapons to use.” He pauses and looks back at Imila. “Now what?”

“Now you ask someone else a question.”

“Right. Hey Griffin, what was your favourite part of the adventure?”

Griffin smiles sweetly as he answers, “the drinking competition. You guys were hilarious when you were drunk.”

Imila blushes. Quinn grunts.

“Alright then. Question time: Imila, did you like us when we first met? I mean the whole group.”

“Of course, I did—”

“Answer honestly,” he interrupts, smiling.

Imila’s blush reddens further as she shakes her head in defeat. “I hated every single one of you. If it weren’t for Pelor, I would never have joined you three.”

Lena looks up in surprise, her attention finally drawn to the words of the adventurers. She does not appear surprised by the fact the aasimar hated each of them – no, this was obvious by the aasimar’s reluctant behaviour at the start – instead Lena is concerned about the angel’s very forward annunciation of her deity.

“Hey, look who finally woke up,” Griffin says, patting Lena on the back.

Lena shrugs him off like a wet towel and shuffles away.

“Anyhow,” Imila says, the redness beginning to disappear, “question… Hmm… Hey, you know what? I don’t know what deities’ you guys serve, if any. You all know I’m here because of Pelor, but what about you?”

“I thought these questions were for individuals.” Quinn frowns as he gives Imila a death glare.

Imila smiles. “I’m sure you wanted to know everyone else’s stories, anyway. How about we answer in a circle. Quinn?”

Quinn rolls his eyes. “I worship no deities,” he says, taking a break between words, “but I used to worship the Traveller. That ended when I left hometown.”

“And hometown is where?” Griffin asks, nudging the human in the side.

Quinn sneers. “Don’t change the topic. Who are you following around?”

The dragonborn shrugs as he says, “Talos. Storm Lord. Not sure if it was obvious or not from the excessive lightning and shit.”

Quinn nods, almost in respect, then moves his eyes over to Lena, as do the other two.

Lena looks on in mild horror as the three pairs of eyes wait, in anticipation, for the reveal that could get her killed then and there. Of course, she has mentioned that she serves a deity before, so it is impossible for her to brush off the question as easily as Quinn did. She gulps. “I, uhm, I call them the Greater Power.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard that before. Sometimes you whisper it in your sleep,” Griffin says, crossing his arms intimidatingly, “but what’re they actually called?”

“Well—” she begins, but the cart stops a moment before she responds and the attention is drawn away from her. They have arrived at their destination.

_Loviatar_ , she thinks to herself; _I grew up among worshippers of Loviatar._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further info: 
> 
> Imila doesn't really worship Pelor, but he sent her back to the planet for reasons beyond her knowledge. Also she has Pelor's sword, now. She's lawful good, and a sweet-heart.
> 
> Quinn used to worship the Traveller because he's a changeling. He gave that up when he decided to fully embody the human lifestyle. He's lawful neutral.
> 
> Griffin hasn't actually shown himself to ever openly worship Talos, but he acknowledges the deity as the best one out there. He's neutral good.
> 
> Lena is a low-key Loviatan. Think a Christian who goes to church every three weeks and opens a Bible maybe once a month. She's neutral evil.


	3. The Halfling's Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the past comes back to haunt the people you surround yourself with.

**“You know what? Maybe I _will._ ”**

Lena sits by the table restlessly, her hands tapping a rhythm she cannot hear and feet kicking each other in impatience. While she has walked with this group of adventurers, she has had to hide herself in its entirety. They would probably kill her if she even remotely showed her true colours.

The other three continue drinking heavily. Quinn and Griffin are, to her surprise, aggressively flirting with each other over the alcohol. The clueless aasimar is singing on stage with a bard, but their voices create no harmony at all.

The night is tedious.

After far too long sitting by with an itch to harm, Lena’s eyes catch onto those of a halfling in the opposite corner of the bar. To her disdain, the creature begins walking over, their steps containing a purpose unknown to her.

“Looking for some fun?” they ask, sitting across from her. A grin is plastered to their face.

She shakes her head and returns her attention to the crowd, but finds herself drawn back to the halfling’s crooked teeth and pale eyes.

“Alright, what is your definition of fun?” she asks, the urge to snap his neck already coursing through her veins. Sometimes, the past comes back to haunt the people you surround yourself with.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

They make their way out of the business of the bar, behind the back entrance, and into an alley of sorts on the side. Before the halfling can even begin to speak, Lena steps back and pulls a dagger from her belt, throwing it at the wall behind them.

“W-what are you doing?” the halfling asks, their voice cracking halfway through.

“Having fun.” Lena removes a second dagger, throwing it just an inch from his face. The first step to bringing your prey to their knees is to intimidate them, which is generally quite hard for a human, but weapons are very good at it.

“Y-you’re just playing with me.”

“Yes.”

“You wouldn’t actually kill me,” the halfling stutters, “right?”

“You know what? Maybe I _will_ ,” Lena says, a chuckle escaping her lips as she raises her hands into the air.

The halfling’s eyes grow wide, their already fragile form weakening in fear. They had never meant to antagonise the woman. They were not expecting this. But they realise, all too late, that their actions were something they could not take back.

The human’s irises turn a dark shade of red, the colour swirling around in the motion of a vortex. A grin makes its way across her face, menacing in nature. It seems that whatever the halfling did, it evoked a wrath that has been bundled up inside the human for a very long time.

Without another word from either creature, thousands of miniscule, floating needles appear in the air and begin circling around the tiny halfling.

“P-please,” they croak, “I-I can’t die yet.”

“Oh, you won’t die,” Lena says slowly, eyebrows arching, “yet.”

Then, all at once, the needles lurch forward towards the tiny creature and impale it. It seems to take a moment for the pain to register in the creature’s mind but, once it does, a terror-ridden scream echoes throughout the alleyway.

The halfling body twists and curls, toes scraping into the stone beneath them. Tears spring from their eyes as blood pours from thousands of wounds all over their body. A waterfall of salty, red liquid crashes to the ground.

Lena stands there, admiring the beauty of the bloodied cement, listening hungrily to the pain-filled screams of the halfling. She feels stronger. More powerful.

Her heart aches to send a second cascade of pain through the creature, but she knows that too loud a scream will wake the authorities – and possibly her acquaintances. Begrudgingly, she walks over to the writhing body and pierces its heart with another of her small dagger collection.

As she returns to the bar, slipping through the back door, a figure watches in the alleyway behind her. Orange eyes blink once, as she disappears from sight, and a smirk creeps onto pale lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pain is certainly a lot easier to write about when you're in first person point of view, huh.


End file.
